Excelsior (Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Poem)
The shades of night were falling fast, As through an Alpine village passed A youth, who bore, 'mid snow and ...
The shades of night were falling fast, As through an Alpine village passed A youth, who bore, 'mid snow and ...
There are who lord it o'er their fellow-men With most prevailing tinsel: who unpen Their baaing vanities, to browse away ...
Muse of my native land! loftiest Muse! O first-born on the mountains! by the hues Of heaven on the spiritual ...
Smoke, it is all smoke in the throat of eternity. . . . For centuries, the air was full of ...
DREADED Brama, lord of might! All proceed from thee alone; Thou art he who judgeth right! Dost thou none but ...
The dark wings of night enfolded the city upon which Nature had spread a pure white garment of snow; and ...
As if on the majestic wings, of the regal bird, the eagle of the sky rising effortlessly, ascending heavenward Hope ...
It will surely come growing in ways mysterious unknowable, how the seed becomes the grain hidden first underground then in ...
a cluster of open milkweed pods brown flat seeds, a ball of cotton candy silk waiting for the wind, to ...
Just fallen petals in the wet green grass shimmering in the late afternoon filtered sunlight after the rain rich color, ...
Off in the distance Rising heavenward before me as I draw toward home, late this September afternoon White lines in ...
A living Ansel Adams tableau white birches stretching heavenward over a winter scene of white on white A monochromatic world ...
She is as in a field a silken tent At midday when the sunny summer breeze Has dried the dew ...
I There was an ancient City, stricken down With a strange frenzy, and for many a day They paced from ...
Severed and gone, so many years! And art thou still so dear to me, That throbbing heart and burning tears ...
Mysterious death! who in a single hour Life's gold can so refine And by thy art divine Change mortal weakness ...
We smile at each other and I lean back against the wicker couch. How does it feel to be dead? ...
How changed is here each spot man makes or fills! In the two Hinkseys nothing keeps the same; The village ...
Heroic Good, target for which the young Dream in their dreams that every bow is strung, And, missing, sigh Unfruitful, ...
LORD BUDDHA, on thy Lotus-throne, With praying eyes and hands elate, What mystic rapture dost thou own, Immutable and ultimate? ...
You observe the carven hand With the index finger pointing heavenward. That is the direction, no doubt. But how shall ...
What heartache -- ne'er a hill! Inexorable, vapid, vague and chill The drear sand-levels drain my spirit low. With one ...
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